


Echoes

by Kinggorilla



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate History, F/M, Mysticism, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26813494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinggorilla/pseuds/Kinggorilla
Summary: Trying to come to grips with the fallout of a failed mission, SG-1 is caught between allegiance and conscience.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. Trails in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to "Tribes". I won't be pedantic and insist you read it, but the last chapter provides much-needed context for this story. If that's still too much, then the epilogue to the last chapter at a bare minimum will help you vastly.

Carter jerked awake.

The dreams never stopped now. Night after awful night they hounded her, crawling through her brain like black worms, eating away her sense of reality. Sometimes the shadowy marchers remained hidden, as in the original dream. At other times, they resolved into needle-fanged white shapes that slunk along furtively in the cavernous hall. Every night she heard the sound of Akna’s blood gushing over a marble floor, heard the death rattle rasping past her stiffening lips. The words of her own perfidy echoed in her memory as she betrayed her oath of allegiance.

Carter’s eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand, where a lurid red "2:58" glowed like the eyes of angry demons. Her eyes felt gritty and her head was full of hot gravel. This was unendurable.

Her eyes slid further over, to the telephone handset highlighted by the dim red glow. There was succor at the other end of the phone line, she knew. All it would take was punching in seven numbers, a listing she knew by heart, the work of three seconds. 

She would feel terrible about waking Janet up at three in the morning, but professional capacities aside, they had been friends for many years. If she didn't call and Fraiser somehow found out about it, the diminutive doctor would doubtless cuss her out for it.

There were others she could call as well. They might not be able to offer the blessed release of chemical bliss a doctor could, but commiserating and offering support might be just as valuable. 

Instead, she did neither, burrowing deeper into the bedclothes. Her blond hair glowed a dull salmon in the light cast by the clock.

The enemies of the past had been physical things, things that could be faced, contested with and vanquished. But now, it seemed, the enemy was her own subconscious. 

Covering her head with a pillow, she gave herself a mental order to see Janet first thing when she got to base. She'd know how to handle this. The dull throbbing in her head intensified, and Carter curled into a small ball of misery.

O'Neill slid out of his truck and flipped the door shut with one hand while pulling the back of his jacket down with the other. It never ceased to irritate him, the way it would ride up while he was driving and eventually bunch up at the back of his neck. His shirttail always stayed firmly tucked into his jeans, but his jacket was, almost literally, a millstone around his neck.

He surveyed a mostly empty parking lot and then double-checked the names he had scribbled down on the back of an old receipt. A thousand times he had gone into battle, a thousand times his stomach had clenched in the primal fear of the unknown. Again, it clenched as anxiety nibbled around the edges of his self-esteem. He had come here for answers, and he intended to get them, no matter the cost.

"Pinon Valley Elementary, room 107," he muttered to himself.

He walked up the long entrance ramp. Brassy sunshine of the late afternoon played over well-manicured grass and empty playground equipment. The memories lay thick as he recalled how long it had been since he had seen the inside of a public school.

A sign just past the double doors directed him to the left, and he mentally counted the odd numbered rooms as he wandered down the hall.

_101_.

_103_.

_105_.

_107_.

He took a deep breath, hand hovering over the door handle. He would have rather confronted a squad of angry Jaffa than what he was about to face. Indecision ill suited his character. Before he could change his mind, he ripped the door open, perhaps a little more energetically than necessary, and entered the room.

He immediately found himself face to face with a short, spindly middle-aged man dressed in khakis and a Polo shirt. He favored O’Neill with a friendly smile and pushed up a pair of glasses that had slid down his nose.

"Take a seat, anywhere you like," he said, waving a hand at the room. "We'll get started in a couple of minutes."

Jack O’Neill was on time for his first group therapy session. 

He slowly ambled across the classroom to where a dozen chairs had been arranged in a wide circle. There were five other men present, and he studiously avoided looking at any of them. He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for this situation, so he reverted to type and ferociously minded his own business. 

He had chosen a seat equidistant from the other occupants and was trying to figure out how to fold himself into furniture made for children when one of the other attendees violently cleared his throat. Glancing up out of pure habit, he found himself looking directly at Daniel Jackson, who was giving him a curious look.

O’Neill shuffled his feet nervously and glanced at the empty chair he had selected, then looked at the empty chairs on either side of Jackson. Jackson’s curious look was beginning to morph into a hurt look.

_Hell_ , he grumbled to himself, before taking a seat next to his comrade.

"Fraiser?," Jackson murmured, a moment later.

"She can be persuasive," O'Neill agreed, "especially when she's mean."

The classroom door opened and closed again behind them, and they heard the man, who O’Neill guessed was the facilitator, say, "Take a seat anywhere; we're about to get started."

Samantha Carter slid into the empty seat on the other side of Jackson. She was wearing a vaguely classy ensemble of jeans and blazer that could have passed for suburban soccer mom standard issue anywhere.

"I seem to have dropped in to a meeting of the minds," she observed with a nervous smile.

"This is where all the cool kids hang out," O'Neill replied with an exaggerated grin, trying to hide his surprise. Finding Jackson here had been a shock, but Carter's presence was astonishing.

"Never thought it would take thirty years for me to be one of the 'cool kids' at school," Jackson commented. 

"I'll say this much," O'Neill announced _sotto voce_ , "if Teal’c walks through that door, I'm done."

The facilitator took a seat opposite the rest, and glanced from person to person, meeting the eyes of each and giving them a wry grin.

"Good afternoon, " he greeted them. "I'm Rick, but my friends call me Dr. Etchberger. Since that's a mouthful, we'll stick with 'Rick' for now."

There were a couple of snorts of suppressed laughter from around the circle, and Carter found herself starting to shed some of her nervousness and warm to the skinny man. With the ice broken, he went on.

"All of you have come here by different paths, but you all have at least one thing in common. Each of you has chosen to serve others before yourselves, and each of you has been changed by that experience. Some of those experiences have been beneficial and some not so much."

Several of the attendees fidgeted uncomfortably. O’Neill was one of those. The words weren’t making him uneasy; the small seat was making his backside numb.

"We are here in a group because, as you well know, groups are stronger than individuals. Groups are safe places to talk, be heard, and be understood. By treating each other with respect, and accepting differences in opinions and ideas, we can help each other."

Etchberger let his gaze run around the circle, looking at each in turn.

"You are all in different places as individuals, so as we progress as a group, you may learn from others how they have successfully overcome problems and learned to cope with situations. You're used to working as part of a team, so here we are, starting a brand new team."

He smiled at them.

"Shall we begin?"

O'Neill zipped his jacket. The session had run nearly two hours and late afternoon had given way to twilight. A light breeze sprang up, carrying the sharp tang of ozone that the Rockies wafted into the air whenever rain was imminent. He dawdled just outside the front door, waiting for Carter and Jackson to catch up.

The session, he reflected, hadn’t been the waste of time he'd feared it would be. The group had covered a lot of ground, and the grudging acquiescence several members had displayed had changed into acceptance, and finally to enthusiastic participation. Seeds had been planted. This was, he felt, just the sort of endeavor that needed wholehearted support from the brass at the Pentagon. 

Two other attendees drifted past, exchanging polite nods of acknowledgement with him before Jackson emerged, followed closely by Carter. Despite his positive view of the situation, O'Neill had been only too happy to quickly decamp.

"Brrr," she observed, pulling her blazer tighter. "It got cold."

"That kinda thing happens when the sun goes down," O'Neill agreed without a hint of his usual sarcasm. 

"So, what did you think? ," Jackson asked his peers.

Carter shrugged and mimicked a grimace.

"Not too bad," she replied. "Not what I was expecting, but not bad at all."

"Wish I'd met that guy twenty years ago, " O'Neill commented, adjusting his collar.

"Twenty years ago he was probably still in school," Jackson pointed out.

"So were you," O'Neill bit back, as his snark began to reassert itself. "The only difference is that you were still in fifth grade."

"Hey, fifth grade was the best three years of my life," Jackson quipped. 

"I move that we adjourn to someplace with food, " Carter interrupted, wanting to forestall the verbal sparring match she sensed was coming.

O'Neill just couldn't resist the temptation to get one more dig in.

"Well, we're still under a lifetime ban from O'Malley's because Daniel likes to pick fights, so where to?" 

Jackson winced in mock agony. 

"Ouch," he said. "Savastano's?"

It was O'Neill's turn to grimace.

"Not really feelin' the Italian vibe," he replied. 

"Absolutely, " Carter overruled him ruthlessly. "You can get steaks there. Trust me, sir, you'll love it."

She took his arm and steered him toward the parking lot.

"Carter, " he mumbled, "you're off the clock and I'm a potential psych patient. You can lose the 'sir'."

" _WE_ are potential psych patients, sir," she corrected him gently.

In preference to making a convoy to the restaurant, all three piled into O’Neill’s truck.

"Should we swing by and pick up Teal’c? ," O'Neill asked. 

"No idea where he is, and he doesn’t keep a cell phone, " Jackson pointed out. 

"And I'm starving, " Carter added. "We can bring him something back."

"Tough crowd, " O'Neill observed, wondering how many times the other three had gone somewhere without _him_.

Upon arriving at the restaurant, O’Neill slipped the hostess a twenty dollar bill, quietly requesting a table as far away from the other diners as possible. It was still early evening and the crowd was sparse, so she installed them in a shadowy corner booth and pocketed her $20 with a smile.

Forty minutes later, O’Neill pushed away the muddy remains of a surf and turf special, and reflected that Carter was right: he had been able to get a steak here, and he did love it. 

Jackson had eaten most of his manicotti and was toying with a breadstick, pushing the pasta's emptied hull around his plate. Carter had annihilated a plate of shrimp scampi, a salad, and half of his baked potato, and O’Neill was wondering if she was going to flag the waitress down again. He knew she regularly skipped meals while absorbed by a project, but when she decided to eat, she could put away enough grub to feed a squad of Marines.

Jackson stopped playing with his food and took a drink of water, then spoke.

"As helpful as our meeting was just now, you realize that's not going to help with what's really bothering us, right?"

His eyes narrowed slightly and he stared at O’Neill, who cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. Unlike in the school building, it wasn't the chair making his backside numb, this time it _was_ the words.

"That fact was not lost on me, Daniel, " he answered quietly. "But knowing there's an issue and knowing how to fix it are two different things. I was hoping this would help."

He shrugged innocently. 

"Obviously, it didn’t."

"So where do we go from here?," Carter threw the question out for general consideration, hoping someone else had an answer for it; _she_ sure didn't. 

The clink and rattle of glass and china from the other patrons filled the uncomfortable silence that sprang up. 

"We can keep nibbling around the edges of the problem, or we can admit we've got some unfinished business, " Jackson finally said. "We broke faith with people who trust us, and we let a pretty big genie out of the bottle."

"And just what do you think we need to do about that?," O'Neill asked acidly.

"I don’t have any answers, Jack, " Jackson responded softly. "But until it's out in the open, we can't deal with it. Honestly, I'm not sure there's anything we _can_ do at this point."

"So we just slowly go nuts?," O'Neill responded. 

"What about outside help?," Carter asked. 

"Getting ahold of the Asgard is iffy at best," O'Neill dismissed. "Tok’ra might help, then again they might not. Gonna have lots of questions either way."

Carter flashed him an annoyed look, and he shrugged. 

"No heat, just the truth," he explained. "Your dad notwithstanding, they're a nosy bunch under _good_ circumstances. "

"Can't say I'd blame them," Jackson interjected. "When somebody comes to us for help we tend to ask questions, too. If they're gonna put their necks on the line, they get to know why. It's that whole 'allies' thing." 

“We don’t even have the ability to do an honest threat assessment,” Carter grumbled. “We’ve got no idea where to start.”

“Teal’c seemed to think we’d have at least _some_ time,” Jackson temporized.

O’Neill grimaced.

“How much of the galaxy are you willing to bet on that?”

Jackson started folding his napkin into a complex origami-like structure in preference to answering. Carter shifted uneasily in her seat. Either the stress was getting to her, or the shrimp in her dinner were trying to swim upstream. 

"So we're pretty much on our own," O'Neill summarized. 

Conversation stalled as the waitress came by and collected their dishes and refilled O’Neill’s iced tea. After she departed, Carter placed both palms on the table, drumming her fingers lightly.

"The first step of anything we do will involve us being off-world. If we start taking unannounced trips through the gate, people are going to want to know why."

"Fair enough, " O'Neill allowed. He frowned, thinking furiously, an act which happened far more frequently than most people would guess. "Is there anything coming up that we know about? I'm not above stealing another team's mission if it gets us where we need to go."

Carter shook her head blankly. She had nothing. Jackson chewed his lip.

"I'm working on an idea I may pitch to Hammond in a couple of days," he said finally. "Nothing major, just a basic exploratory like we used to do all the time."

_Like we used to do, before saving the galaxy became a weekly thing_ , he thought to himself. 

"Move it up to the front burner," O'Neill urged. "The sooner the better. I've got an idea or two I want to play around with in the meantime."

Carter shot him a questioning look. 

"Nothing solid yet, just an idea," he clarified in a defensive tone. He held up empty palms so they could see he didn't have any tricks up his sleeve.

One of the unfortunate side effects of their betrayal of Hammond’s trust was a creeping erosion of their trust in each other's veracity. No one spoke aloud, but an undercurrent of uneasiness flowed around the table. 

Carter gave him a steady, level stare, absentmindedly fingering her silverware, trying to guess what was going on in his head. Professional poker players had nothing on Jack O’Neill when he decided to be unreadable. 

"I believe somebody mentioned something about getting carryout for Teal’c, " Jackson said, trying to defuse the unwelcome feeling of tension. 

"Yes," O'Neill agreed, a little too quickly. "There's also dessert to be considered. I believe Italians have something very close to cake that they call 'tiramisu'." 

This last was said to Carter, with a suggestive waggle of the eyebrows. She didn’t bite on the proffered bait, but continued to stare at him evenly.

As Jackson flagged down the waitress, he leaned closer to her.

"I'm not going to do anything squirrelly without running it by you first, " he whispered. "We're in this together, right?"

She relaxed slightly and nodded. Her imagination was getting the best of her, because for just a moment she'd been convinced that he was planning something foolish. Or suicidal. Or both.

"Tiramisu _is_ cake, sir," she pointed out quietly. 

"At ease, people," General Hammond growled, bustling into the briefing room. No one had been standing as he made his unannounced entrance, but they all at least made a pretense of sitting up straight in their chairs.

He took his seat as O’Neill leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

"We've been on the edge of our seats trying to figure out what you have for us this fine, frosty morning, sir," he offered, trying his best to sound earnest.

"I believe Dr. Jackson has something you'll find interesting," Hammond said with a chuckle. "I know _I_ sure did."

He nodded to the archaeologist. 

"Doctor?"

Jackson ruffled through his ever-present yellow legal pad and found the page he was looking for.

"I've been doing research on pre-Columbian Mesoamerica in connection with the Ancient healing device we came across recently. Specifically, I was trying to find any potential links or folklore references to other possible pieces of technology that don't belong there naturally. "

This was a blatant falsehood. His research had been focused on the transplanted tribes that had inhabited Xuchotl, and any mention of alien intervention on their behalf. Another lie, but a small one. He was, he worried, getting to be a little too good at that lately 

"I didn't turn up anything there, but what I _did_ come across was just as fascinating."

He located the remote that controlled the projector, and brought it to life. The lights automatically dimmed, and the group found themselves looking at a crude image painted in ochre and black on a roughly-hewn rock face. It depicted a man in the act of dancing. His skin was a ruddy rust color and he had an elongated braid or scalp lock that was colored a bright crimson. 

"Farther to the north, in the Mississippi valley, archaeologists have been uncovering a number of very complex sites that display a deep understanding of astronomical phenomena. These sites range in age from about 8000 B.C. to first contact with European explorers."

He clicked to the next slide, showing an overhead view of one of the sites he'd referenced. 

"We've known for decades that the aboriginal inhabitants were aware of, and utilized, the solstice and equinoxes to keep track of time. What we didn't know until recently was that they were also familiar with the concept of precession and interstitial periods. That indicates they were making astronomical observations over a long period of time."

"How long?," O'Neill interrupted. 

Jackson consulted his notes.

"The full round of precession takes 26,000 years to complete, so maybe that long."

O'Neill let out a low whistle. 

"Gotta give 'em points for persistence," he commented. 

Jackson clicked back to the first slide of the dancing man.

"There is an entire cycle of legend, centered around Redhorns, who you see here."

"I see no horns, Daniel, " O'Neill interrupted again. "Only a long ponytail. Are you sure it's the same guy?"

"Yes," Jackson replied with some asperity. "'Redhorns' is an Anglicization of his name, which is literally, 'He-Who-Wears-Faces-On-His-Ears'."

"Good change," O'Neill admitted. "I like it."

"At any rate," Jackson continued, hoping the disruptions were at an end, "Redhorns was one of five brothers the Great Spirit sent to mankind to civilize them. It is notable that each of the brothers failed at their task, and instead taught mankind about war, pestilence, famine, and death."

He braced himself for another O’Neill-caused interruption about unintended consequences, but none was forthcoming. 

"In the course of their exploits, each brother was accompanied by six companions, never more, never less. That's an important point to remember going forward. The original 'adventure', if you want to call it that, involved a portal in the sky. A demon came through the portal and kidnapped people. I think that, given the history of the SGC, the implication there is pretty clear."

He clicked to a third slide, showing a star map, painted on a large piece of leather, presumably a hide of some kind.

"Now about these companions, taken in total, there were thirty-four of them. Added to the five brothers, the number comes to thirty-nine, which should be significant to all of us."

"You're suggesting each of these characters in the myth cycle represents a stargate symbol?," Carter probed, surprise coloring her tone.

"I am," he confirmed. "The number of six companions plus the divine brother corresponds to the seven symbols that make up a gate address."

"How would we ascertain which symbol corresponds to which person?," Teal’c asked, interest piqued.

"I'm glad you asked," Jackson responded, pointing to the star map. "Each of the characters in the myth cycle has an associated asterism in Native American cosmology."

"Meaning their home run record is questionable?," O'Neill hazarded a guess. 

Carter leaned over and whispered in his ear. 

"Asterism is the technical term for constellation, sir."

"Ah," he murmured. "Thank you."

"What originally caught my attention is that Redhorns is identified with the constellation Orion," Jackson continued, talking over the interruption. "As those familiar with this project's history will recall," he said, aiming the remark at O’Neill, "Orion's asterism was crucial in unlocking the mystery behind operating the stargate."

"So theoretically," Hammond rumbled, "we could use the myth cycle as a basis for generating stargate addresses. "

"That's the idea," Jackson replied, clicking the projector off. The lights came up, revealing a roomful of people deep in thought. O’Neill was the first to speak. 

"I'm totally being not sarcastic here," he began as a preamble, "because I _do_ find the idea fascinating, but I'm gonna be a Debbie Downer for a minute. We know there have been two gates here: the Egyptian gate and the Antarctic gate. Are you suggesting a _third_ based in the Americas? "

Jackson took a moment to arrange his thoughts. 

"We're privy to a lot of information the rest of the world doesn't have. Despite that handicap, there are a growing number of people, across many different disciplines, that are starting to piece together facts that don't fit in to the current paradigm. They're coming to the conclusion that this world's past doesn't line up with what we were taught in school. There's an idea gradually emerging about an older 'mother' civilization that was lost in the transition from the last Ice Age to the current era."

"'Lost' how?," O'Neill pressed. "And are they talking about the Ancients? "

"To answer your second question first, no. The time frame they're looking at is around 14,000 years ago, much too young to be the Ancients. As for the rest, we're only now starting to come to grips with what a cataclysmic period that was. The notion of things gradually changing over thousands of years is getting overturned."

"So how would this theoretical 'mother civilization ' fit in?," Carter asked. 

"Time and again, we've come across instances where religion, or in this case mythology, has been used to hand down information that was held to be important. Even if the society in question wasn't able to make use of it, they could preserve it for some future point in time when succeeding generations _could_. Sometimes the original truth gets garbled or its meaning is lost altogether, but it's still there nonetheless."

"Relevance?" O'Neill inquired. 

"I think what I've come across is the echoes from a culture that was aware of the stargate and the principles behind gate travel; aware enough to have encoded that knowledge into myth and passed it down. Whether they themselves made use of that knowledge themselves or not, I won't speculate on. "

"Sounds like a bit of a stretch, don't ya think?," O'Neill rebutted. 

Jackson grinned evilly.

"At one point it was a bit of a stretch that I believed the pyramids were landing platforms for spaceships, but I feel I've been vindicated on that."

O'Neill had no comeback for that, and Hammond chuckled as he deflated. Even Carter couldn’t suppress a wry smile.

"You said these legends referred to journeys ending in calamity, " Teal’c rumbled, breaking his long silence. "Would it not be wiser to avoid them?"

Jackson thought it over before answering. 

"Not all of the stories in the Redhorns cycle involve catastrophes. Several, as a matter of fact, are pretty benign."

He consulted his notepad.

"In one, he and his companions travel to a distant land and have a series of athletic contests with a race of giants. In another, they rescue a lost child."

He flipped the notepad shut.

"We've got lots of different options to work with here, easily a half-dozen or so."

"One thing I still don't understand, " Carter challenged. "If there are always seven companions representing, as you say, seven gate symbols, and they always change from story to story, what about the point of origin? Wouldn't that always have to stay the same in an Earth - based system? Or are you suggesting they left from somewhere other than Earth?"

Jackson waved a finger for emphasis. 

"I thought about that, too. Then I read really closely, and I noticed that, whoever headed up a particular adventure always carried a sacred object; the sign and the seal of the Great Spirit, if you will."

"And that was…?," O'Neill asked insinuatingly.

"A turtle," Jackson answered. 

"A turtle?," O'Neill repeated incredulously. 

"A turtle."

"And the asterism identified with this turtle?," Carter quizzed.

"You're standing on it. Earth."

Carter sat back, apparently satisfied. 

"I guess that settles that," she admitted. 

Silence wrapped the room.

"While it may sound outlandish, I feel that Dr. Jackson has presented a compelling enough case to authorize a mission. If there are no more questions, I'm prepared to give you a 'Go', dependent on there being a workable gate address," Hammond stated.

O’Neill cleared his throat. 

"General, in light of our most recent mission, I'd like to make a couple of changes to our T.O.&E.," he announced. 

Hammond looked puzzled. 

"What kind of changes, Colonel? "

"For starters," O'Neill replied, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table, "I want to take a Thumper along."

The Mark 12 automatic grenade launcher, known with backhanded affection as 'The Thumper ' was a short, brutal weapon that most personnel avoided as much as possible. The vicious recoil generated by firing 40mm explosive-tipped projectiles was the source of the nickname, with the standard joke that it caused as much damage to the operator as the target. It was belt fed, and tipping the scales at 39 pounds for weapon and ammunition, was an awkward load even for the young and spry.

Hammond blinked in surprise. 

"What else?," he probed. 

O’Neill frowned for a moment. 

"I also want to take one of the new naquadah generators. We got lucky last time; there was enough residual energy in the gate to manually dial out. If we get stuck in a similar situation with a dead gate and need to get out in a hurry, things could get sticky."

Hammond sat back in his chair, lips pursed in thought.

O’Neill, he knew, was no longer a young man. It was inevitable that at some point, he'd begin to consider retirement, or, given his decorations and career path, would begin eyeing the jump from Colonel to Brigadier. The fallout from either consideration would be his gravitating towards being more conservative in his decision-making, which was fine with Hammond. While 'reckless ' could never be applied to O’Neill, he did have a tendency to be cavalier in his attitude towards danger. It went with the territory. If his subordinate wanted to start playing things ultra-safe, he would be the last to object. 

"Getting a little skittish in your old age, Colonel? ," he offered, grinning. 

O’Neill made a face, like he had a bad taste in his mouth. 

"Barring Teal’c’s semi-divine intervention, it's a good chance we'd be dinosaur crap right now, sir. I'd like to shade things in our favor," he replied. 

Hammond had to chuckle at that, then nodded. 

"All right, Jack, you win. Take what you want."

"Thank you, sir," O'Neill said, relieved. "We'll start getting packed while Daniel works on that address."

"Very good, people. Dismissed. "

Hammond leaned back again, watching as O’Neill, Teal’c, and Carter filed out, while Jackson gathered the materials he'd brought to the briefing. As he rose to leave, Hammond spoke. 

"Have you considered all the ramifications of what you might find, Dr. Jackson? ," he rumbled. 

Jackson tilted his head, and gave him a curious look. 

"What do you mean?," he asked. 

Hammond thought for a second, trying to find the best wording for what he wanted to say.

"In the early years of this program, whenever we'd run down clues from ancient mythology, we usually found aliens at the other end of things.

"Yes," Jackson said slowly, wondering where this was going. "That’s true. We've encountered some truly bizarre things; we've also made powerful allies along the way."

"No argument there," Hammond agreed. 'It's the 'powerful' part that's concerning."

"What are you getting at, General? ," he questioned, sitting on the edge of the conference table. 

Hammond rubbed his hands together, betraying his unease.

"As a young man, growing up in the West Texas oil fields, you hear a lot of stories," he replied, "especially from people who have lived there for generations. I heard a lot of indian folklore in those days."

Jackson leaned closer, fascinated. Hammond had never been especially forthcoming along these lines before. Despite their time-twisted encounter in 1969, he'd always assumed that the General had had a blandly generic background, an assumption he was berating himself for at the moment. 

"There were lots of things they would discuss among themselves when they thought no one was listening," he continued, giving Jackson a meaningful look. "If there's much truth to any of that, the beings you may be dealing with are very old, and very powerful. They don't look like us, and they don't think like us."

The words, and they way they were said, gave Jackson a chill feeling. 

"Be on your guard, Dr. Jackson. This may turn out to be unlike anything you've dealt with before. "

Jackson considered that carefully. He could glibly reassure Hammond that they would be fine. He could point out that his recent brush with ascension had given him a different perspective on such matters. After all, given their experiences in the past, there was very little they might find that could be truly surprising. But he knew Hammond wasn't prone to flights of fancy. He was genuinely concerned, beyond his normal solicitousness for his people. If he had chosen to broach the topic, it was not without reason. The stargate program, as he'd just mentioned, had been on the receiving end of the truly bizarre and occasionally terrifying. This was no time to be glib.

"Understood, General, " he answered softly. "We'll be careful. "

"Now you'd better hustle," Hammond declared brusquely, changing the subject . "Colonel O’Neill’s going to be impatient until you come up with that address."

Jackson grinned and stood up. 

"He's probably hanging out in my office as we speak, wondering where I am."

Carter hunched over the main work table in her office, fingers tracing a diagram of the control crystals that Goa’uld technology used in place of circuitry. She'd been toying with the idea of using the crystalline matrix to boost subspace signals so they could cross the dead spaces between galaxies in the hope of establishing reliable communications with the Asgard. It was a vain hope at best, but it kept her occupied. Her lower back was beginning to ache from the unnatural position. 

Following the morning briefing, Jackson had cobbled together a functioning gate address, and a MALP was scheduled to go through shortly, surveying whether conditions were suitable for their proposed mission. If all was acceptable, they would depart at 1400 hours.

She stood and stretched. The twinge in her back was relieved, but the tension remained, radiating up her spine. Her neck and shoulder muscles felt like steel cables stretched tight. Slowly, she twisted her torso side to side, hoping for relief that wouldn’t come. The lack of restful sleep was taking its toll. Other added stresses weren’t helping, either.

Any day now, her psyche would begin to crack. Feelings of disassociation would start, followed by paranoia. The downward spiral that would happen after that would be unthinkable. Suddenly, she had the uncomfortable feeling of being stared at. Carter ground her teeth together, fearing the early stages of her slide into madness may have been skipped, and paranoia attained far too early.

At a quiet noise from the doorway, she whipped around. Relief flooded over her. She wasn't going crazy just yet, someone _was_ standing there, staring at her. O’Neill quietly slipped into the room, hands in his pockets.

"Sir?," she blurted, puzzled by his unexpected appearance. He should have been in the armory, gathering equipment. 

"MALP just went through, " he explained. "Everything looks good. We're going after lunch."

Carter nodded, wondering what else was up. A phone call would have served just as well, and O’Neill was acting… odd. Hesitant almost.

"Something else?," she appealed quietly. 

He bit his lip, deliberately _not_ making eye contact. 

"I need something from you, Carter," he murmured. 

Her stomach was suddenly aflutter with the flight of a thousand butterflies; she knew he wasn't here to borrow an ink pen or copy paper. He wouldn’t be quiet about that. She bit her lip and didn’t say anything, just let him take his time getting to whatever point he wanted to get to. He was nervous, and given O’Neill’s character, that said a lot.

Her mind raced, running through every imaginable notion of what this could mean, every theory more nerve-wrackingly improbable than the last. He finally looked at her, and her heart leaped up into her throat. Samantha Carter, veteran of a thousand battles, destroyer of suns, was as terrified as a high school girl confronted by her crush.

O’Neill licked his lips, drawing a trembling breath and stepping closer, barely a foot away now. Carter’s hands twitched nervously; she could read the uncertainty in his eyes, the fear over what he was about to do. In his mind, she saw, he was about to take an irretraceable step, a leap of faith.

"I need you...," he began, then choked, voice thick with agitation. An indescribable surge of emotion flooded through her, exacerbated by a lack of sleep, fear and uncertainty. 

_He wasn’t about to…? No, he couldn’t possibly…_

Her hands spasmed in anticipation, fighting the urge to reach out to him.

"I need you to show me how to start a feedback loop in the naquadah generator," he whispered. 

The anxious expectancy that had been cresting suddenly crashed, swept into unrecoverable oblivion, but it was immediately replaced by another anxiety as strong as the first. The fear she’d quashed in the restaurant came roaring back, more urgently than before. There was only one use for the information he wanted.

A bomb.

A damned big bomb.

So, he was contemplating foolish, but not suicidal, options.

“Sir?,” she feigned uncertainty, playing for time. In any other situation, she might suspect he was messing with her, trying to ‘get her goat,’ as he would phrase it. But standing this close, there was no humor, no dissimulation in his eyes. He was in deadly, terrible earnest.

“A feedback loop will cause the generator to…,” she broke off, unwilling to say it out loud.

“Explode,” he finished for her, quietly. “Yes, I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Colonels didn’t casually ask majors how to build bombs, they requisitioned them from the central stores, or Pave Pat Blue at Peterson if they needed something to hang on an airframe.

“I could advise you better if I knew what you had in mind, sir,” she managed to get out.

This time his smile twitched back and stayed.

“You’re a smart kid, Sam,” he murmured, glancing away for just a moment. “You know what it’ll do.”

She nodded, not rising to the bait of being called a ‘kid’. She knew what he intended, she just wanted to hear him say it. There was only one thing she could think of that he would be that interested in blowing up. This was his 'idea', and she didn't like it. 

“The feedback takes about twenty minutes to reach a critical cycle,” she said. “That’s not enough time to get it to the city. You’ll have to be close before it starts to build up.”

He looked at her evenly, not the least bit surprised she’d guessed his intentions. Genius had its advantages.

“I’m not taking it to the city.”

She frowned, running rough calculations in her head.

“Even an overloaded generator will have a limited blast radius,” she protested. “If you start the loop too close to the gate, you wouldn’t have time to cross-,”

“I’m not leaving the gate,” he interrupted gently. “I can’t take the chance the blast won’t be big enough. With the bomb right there, the energy from the explosion will be too much for the gate to absorb at close range, and…,” he trailed off.

“And the naquadah of the stargate will continue the runaway reaction,” she finished for him. “You’re going to use the overload to set off the gate, like using a uranium a-bomb to trigger a hydrogen bomb.”

He nodded.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered.

A ghost of a smile twitched across his mouth.

“It’s against regulations to refer to a senior officer in those terms, Carter,” he said.

“And the thumper?,” she prodded, not biting on the joke. Serious matters were afoot.

“I have no idea if there will be hostiles at the gate,” he confessed. “I need something able to hold them off if necessary, and we saw P-90s just won’t cut it.”

"We destroyed the DHD," she reminded him softly. "You'll have to dial out manually. If there _are_ hostiles, you’ll never be able to hold them off and dial out at the same time.”

O’Neill looked down and scratched behind one ear. It had been a foolish hope to think Carter would tell him what he wanted to know and let the matter lie. She was too inquisitive, too quick witted for that. This was the part of the conversation he'd been dreading. 

“I’m not going to be dialing out,” he stated, matter-of-factly.

Her sense of normalcy that had been gradually building back up as they talked vanished with the abruptness of a gut punch. She blinked eyes that were suddenly very moist. Everything had clicked into place: the generator; the thumper; the insistence on Jackson getting them off-world in a hurry; him being here instead of calling her; the uneasiness she’d misdiagnosed; it all made sense. She swallowed a lump that had unaccountably popped up in her throat.

“Sir?,” she managed a ghost of a whisper, hoping against hope she’d misunderstood something.

“You heard Daniel,” he said quietly. “These things are an advanced race. I can’t take the chance they can disable the bomb before it goes off. That means I babysit it until then.”

Carter couldn’t say anything, could only shake her head, and do her best to keep what shreds of composure she still had. It was a fight she was losing, badly.

“No,” she mouthed. “No.” 

The words would not come, they were caught in her chest, wedged tightly against a knot of panic. She was still shaking her head and trying to not break down sobbing when he put a hand on her shoulder and then folded her into a gentle hug.

“It has to be done,” he whispered in her ear.

His warmth and closeness brought no comfort, only a growing sense of despair.

_NO!_ , her psyche rebelled. _Don’t let him do this! You have a freakishly large brain! USE IT! YOU CAN’T LET THIS HAPPEN!_

He was cradling her head and rocking easily back and forth when an idea hit her so forcefully she actually jolted in place. She drew a wavering breath through a suddenly runny nose, and pushed away, stepping back and breaking the embrace.

He looked at her in puzzlement, caught somewhere between surprise and hurt. He hadn’t expected enthusiastic acceptance, but he hadn’t expected outright rejection, either.

“Come to think of it, sir,” she sniffled, wiping her nose, “a feedback loop really isn’t something I can tell you how to do. It’s pretty hands-on; I’d kinda have to be there to _show_ you how to do it.”

It was a bald-faced lie. A feedback loop was simple enough a child could be made to understand how to do it. It was worrisome how easy lying became once you started doing it, she reflected, but she was gambling O’Neill didn’t know enough to call her bluff. She also knew he was a sucker for big sad eyes, so she made hers as big and sad as she could, which, at the moment, didn’t require all that much acting.

He suddenly had a very sour look on his face.

“No,” he rejected the notion out of hand..

It was Carter’s turn to display the ghost of a smile.

“As you said, sir, it has to be done,” she murmured, using her sleeve to dab at her eyes.

“No,” he repeated, hesitantly reaching out a hand to her. _His_ head started shaking in the negative. “I can’t ask you to… to... ,” he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

Carter drew up to her full height, chin tilted up with a hint of pique as she looked him straight in the eye. Fierce pride and an equally fierce love radiated from her like a physical aura.

“You don’t need to ask. It’s where I belong.”

It was a simple statement, layered with enough meaning to fill a library.

O’Neill’s heart swelled. She was magnificent. He was set against Carter coming along, but she was right: he needed the help, and he could think of no other he would rather have with him. There were no words to say, so he settled for wrapping her in an even tighter embrace than before. If he was worried about what a random passerby might think, he gave no sign.

They were going to save the galaxy.

Again.


	2. As Flies the Eagle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language warning, smarmy comparison warning, and dirty shoes warning: chapter two has it all!
> 
> To my shame and regret, this could have been up a month ago. Chapter 2 kept growing and growing, so I eventually decided it was simply necessary to break it in half. The upside is that chapter 3 should be ready in another day or two.  
> Unless you're being punished by reading this, in which case, the tormentor will be back soon.
> 
> Enjoy!

The stargate spun, swirling through the mist of condensation caused by the cryogenically cooled superconducting magnets. With each chevron that locked in place, the tension in the embarcation room ratcheted up another notch.

Carter hitched her ruck higher and tightened the shoulder straps. Sixty pounds of naquadah reactor might be well within the military specs for a field load, but it felt like she was carrying the weight of the world. 

_Me and my big mouth_ , she grumbled to herself, knowing full well it was nothing more than a psychological defense. Once she'd grasped O’Neill’s plan she couldn't let him go alone any more than she could change the Earth's orbit. Loyalty and self-respect and more than a smidgen of affection were powerful motivators. 

O’Neill, by contrast, appeared completely relaxed. The awkward bulk of the thumper was clipped to a carryall harness that evenly distributed its weight. A thin aluminum track ran from the weapon's feeder port to the backpack he wore, where the bulk of its ammunition was stored. He practiced maneuvering the ungainly rig.

"I kinda like this thing," he deadpanned. "I feel like one of the Ghostbusters."

Jackson smirked at the reference. Teal’c looked thoughtful for a moment. 

"You must remember to never cross the streams, O’Neill, " he advised. 

O’Neill grinned. 

"You like marshmallows, big guy," he reminded the hulking Jaffa. "I don’t see a problem. "

Any anxiety he'd felt had been swept away once he'd decided on a course of action. He would carry out his self-imposed mission to the best of his ability. Years of training kicked in, and all hesitation faded away.

"Which one of Redhorns' adventures did you pick for us?," Carter asked Jackson. "I hope it wasn't the giants?"

She felt the need to make conversation. It served the dual purpose of covering her nervousness and distracting her mind, which was racing through endless scenarios, each one worse than the last.

"The missing kid one," Jackson replied. "Nothing bad happened, and everyone came home safely. Sounded like a good plan to me."

Instead of allaying her anxiety, it got turned up another notch. It was damned certain not everyone was coming home safely _this_ time.

The last chevron locked in place, and the gate erupted with the faux splash of not-water.

"Godspeed, SG-1," Hammond’s voice echoed over the tannoy. "Good luck."

O'Neill looked to Carter. He was almost positive her pretense for going was 99 percent smokescreen and 1 percent honest concern he would find a way to screw things up, but he held his tongue. Carter had followed him into every tight spot imaginable, and if anyone had ever earned the right to go along, she had.

Again, their eyes locked in that timeless moment of communication, only this time there was no despair, no fear. This was a first step, but once taken, it was irrevocable. If they were embarking on an officially sanctioned mission he would have ordered her through without a second thought. 

But it wasn't. 

Carter was accompanying him of her own volition. She was going because she wanted to, because she couldn't imagine _not_ going. Because whatever happened, they were a team, and her place was at his side.

She nodded, and he could see the resolve in her eyes.

So be it; the die was cast.

O’Neill led the way up the ramp and through the event horizon. 

An instant later he emerged from the other side. His stride never wavered as he cleared the gate platform. Long experience had taught that there would be plenty of time for sightseeing once everybody was through. Stopping now would cause a pile - up and the possibility of injuries. He gave the area a quick sweep for hostiles. They were clear.

Carter materialized next and made a beeline to one side of the steps. She untabbed her ruck and immediately set to work on the generator. O’Neill’s plan didn't allow for any dilly-dallying, and she didn't want to be the cause of a delay.

Teal’c and then Jackson exited the vortex, which closed with a soft _foop_! Teal’c assumed a defensive posture near Carter. He had no idea what she was doing, but his instincts were as finely honed as O’Neill’s, and he followed them, providing cover for his teammate. Jackson, on the other hand, started gawking the second his feet hit the platform.

The stargate stood in the middle of a vast sward of meticulously trimmed grass, looking like an obstacle in a giant's miniature golf course. Bright green grass contrasted sharply with a crystal blue cloudless sky. High overhead, the sun stood a hands's breadth from the zenith, but they had no way of knowing if it was before or after noon.

The grassy meadow was perhaps a hundred yards across, ringed by a series of flat-topped mounds which varied from two to four meters in height. They looked, for all in the world, like enormous tee boxes, reinforcing the golf course imagery. Far off to one side was a low pavilion, its flat roof supported by a maze of wooden pillars. The entire area was deserted.

"That looks like one hell of a par three," Jackson muttered to no one in particular. Seeing Carter hard at work already, he followed O'Neill, who was walking to the DHD as quickly as the thumper's bulk would allow. O’Neill shifted the weapon to one side and started dialing an address from memory as Jackson looked on with growing curiosity. Carter and Teal’c joined them as he entered the third symbol.

"The feedback loop's started," she reported. O’Neill nodded a brusque acknowledgement. 

Jackson’s specialty was archaeology, but he had a good enough memory to recall the last time he'd heard 'feedback loop ' in relation to a naquadah generator. 

"Teal’c, keep an eye on Daniel while he's exploring," O'Neill ordered without looking up.

"Got a little side trip planned?," Jackson asked, in the tone of a man inquiring about lunch.

"Yeah," O'Neill confirmed, punching the fourth symbol. "Carter and I have got a little something to take care of." 

"Hmph," Jackson commented. "I wonder what that could be? "

He hadn’t needed to call upon his considerable mental powers to figure out what that 'something' might be. O’Neill turned a flinty gaze in his direction. 

"I would appreciate you not trying to talk us out of it," he grumbled. 

Jackson held up his hands defensively. 

"Far be it from me to argue," he replied. "I just think it's pretty shitty of you to run off and leave Teal’c and me holding the bag."

O'Neill scowled and punched the fifth symbol.

"I feel kinda bad about that, " he admitted, then changed the subject. "If we're not back in twenty-four hours, you guys gate back to the SGC. I'm sure you can figure out something to tell Hammond. "

"Lies on top of lies," Jackson observed as O’Neill hit the sixth symbol. "That always ends so well."

"I _told_ you, don't try to talk us out of this," O'Neill bit back sharply. "We're going, and that's final."

He punched the seventh symbol angrily.

"Of course we are," Jackson agreed easily. "You know, 'One for all and all for one', and all that stuff."

"You're not a fucking musketeer!," O'Neill exploded. While the display of loyalty warmed his heart, it was also exasperating. "THIS IS A SUICIDE MISSION!," he yelled. 

Jackson looked at Teal’c. His feelings on the matter were clear, but he had no right to make that call for anyone else, especially in light of O'Neill's outburst. He hadn't thought things were quite _that_ bad, but having spoken up, he couldn’t very well back out now. The sturdy Jaffa solemnly nodded his agreement. 

"Well," Jackson reflected, "it won't be our first."

He leaned past O’Neill and palmed the large red jewel, activating the DHD.

The seven chevrons blazed to life, flared briefly, and then powered down. 

"What did you do?," O'Neill snapped angrily.

"Dialed out," Jackson said, confused. "Did you put the right address in?"

"Move," O'Neill grumped, shoving the younger man aside. He quickly input the seven symbols again, then activated the DHD.

Once more, the seven chevrons came to life and immediately powered down.

"Carter!," he barked.

"Yessir," she gently elbowed O’Neill out of the way, and took her turn inputting the gate address. 

For a third time, the chevrons lit up, and then stubbornly died.

"What's going on? ," O'Neill groused. "Did us blowing the other DHD snarl things up?"

Carter shook her head, trying a fourth time. 

"We've seen gates work just fine with a damaged DHD," she reminded him as she pressed the glyphs. "Hell, the gate we came here through doesn't even _have_ a DHD."

Still nothing happened. 

"So what's going on? ," O'Neill repeated.

Carter’s forehead wrinkled in furious thought.

"It's acting like the gate at the other end isn't there, sir" she said finally, gesturing in frustration. . 

"So they moved it?," he guessed. 

Carter rubbed her eyes, still thinking it through. 

"No," she stated flatly. "We've moved gates before and they still worked. Even if it was in orbit it would still register. This is more like the other gate doesn't _exist_ any more."

Jackson blinked in surprise. 

"Is that possible?," he asked. 

"Apparently so," Carter admitted, downcast. 

"Well, shit," O'Neill commented. "Options?"

"Unless we can find a capital ship to make the trip there, we don't have any, " Carter answered bitterly.

O’Neill made a face.

"I lost the keys to my _alkesh_ ," he snarked. "And I don’t see Hammond letting us finagle the _Prometheus_ without wanting to know why. "

He deflated like an overfilled balloon. The endorphin high from anticipating fighting for his life crested and fell, leaving him in a black mood.

"I guess we… carry on with our original mission," he fumed. He had never been so disappointed at missing the chance of getting killed. 

"Not to change the subject, " Jackson interrupted, "but we're still sitting on top of a very live bomb."

He pointed to Carter’s innocent looking backpack, still sitting by the gate. O’Neill looked disgustedly in its direction, then nodded Carter over to it. It was the work of only a few seconds to stop the feedback loop. She zipped the ruck shut and glanced up to see O’Neill shrugging his way out of the thumper's harness. Her backpack joined the discarded grenade launcher next to the DHD.

"I'm not lugging that damn thing all over creation," he explained. Truth be told, he hadn’t been looking forward to firing the ungainly weapon, and was just as happy to be suddenly rid of it.

He stood there, empty hands clenching convulsively, and realized he was now effectively disarmed. His P90 was light years away, in the SGC armory, and he felt naked without it.

"Daniel, " he began, ingratiatingly. Jackson shook his head, guessing what was coming.

"Oh, no," he said. "This one is mine." He hugged the rifle closer. "I don't want to make Master Sergeant Rakes mad at me."

The SGC's armorer had a legendary temper when it came to 'his' weaponry.

O’Neill scowled. Carter needed hers, and Teal’c was armed with his staff; confiscating Jackson’s had been his only hope.

"All right," he gave in, grumbling. "But you have to protect me," he reminded the archaeologist, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. 

"Sure," Jackson agreed easily. "Where's the safety again?," he stage-whispered to Carter, baiting O’Neill. Carter coughed violently to cover a laugh she couldn’t suppress. Her relief at the change in plans was tangible, and she needed the outlet.

"Move out," O'Neill ordered, giving Jackson a venomous look. "Teal’c, take point, and watch out for… whatever."

"Garden gnomes, from the look of it," he added a moment later, under his breath.

Shrugging off the emotional rollercoaster, he checked out their surroundings as Teal’c led off. The area had the look of a city park, sans shrubs and flowers. The air had an inviting spring-like quality to it, and he found himself gradually forgetting his foul mood.

There was no obvious path, so Teal’c chose the direction opposite of the gate and forged ahead, ears alert, eyes probing the springy grass for any sign of habitation. Carter followed, feeling the welcome sensation of tension ebbing away. Normally this was the part of the mission where she would be the most apprehensive, so it was a strange feeling. 

O’Neill came next, prevented from walking the accustomed rear guard by his weaponless state. He was alternating between relief and irritation, and kept shooting glances over his shoulder at Jackson, who was bringing up the rear. For his part, Jackson was enjoying himself, constantly sweeping his surroundings in curious estimation. Given his recent research, he had some inkling about the mounds and their purpose, and was encouraged that they were on the right track.

The area around the stargate bespoke a constant human presence. Trees and overgrowth would have swallowed the open sward in short order if unattended, and the uniform length of the grass looked like the handiwork of professional landscapers.

Jackson noted the location of each mound, observing the distances between them, and the angles they created. He would be willing to bet a year's pay they were astronomically aligned. He smiled a self-satisfied smile. This would prove to be fruitful territory indeed.

Teal’c threaded his way between two mounds, and emerging from the other side, was confronted with irrefutable evidence of a human presence. Far away to left and right stretched a pathway, making a gentle curve to follow the general outline of the mound complex. It was composed of white gravel, and edged with square cobbles cut from a reddish igneous stone. He stopped at the near side of the path to let the others catch up, and closely studied its surface.

Carter and O’Neill joined him quickly, while Jackson, still engrossed with observing the mounds dawdled along behind.

"Not exactly the yellow brick road," O'Neill commented archly. "DANIEL! ," he called, waving Jackson over.

Jackson dog-trotted to them, still casting surreptitious glances over his shoulder. He caught sight of the pathway and stopped short, then gave a low whistle. 

"Interesting?," Carter needled.

"Wow," was the only reply. 

He took a moment to consider the path, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 

"The mounds are definitely Mississippian," explained. 

O’Neill gave him a disgruntled look.

"Like I told you about in the briefing," Jackson clarified.

"I'll admit I wasn't really paying attention in the briefing, " O'Neill confessed. "I had other things on my mind."

Jackson harrumphed. 

"Very, very old American Indian, then," he said and turned his attention back to the trail. "This, however," he went on, "looks more Mediterranean, maybe Minoan or Cretan."

"Damn cretins," O'Neill groused. 

"Like the island of Crete," Jackson corrected, wondering why he had to explain this to a grown man.

"Some of that 'mother culture' you were talking about?," Carter probed. 

Jackson nodded. 

"There wasn't any direct contact between the old world and the new when both were active civilizations, so I'd say that's a good guess. "

"There are footprints less than a day old," Teal’c rumbled, "as well as smaller animal tracks of a type I do not recognize. "

"Let's see," O'Neill said. He took a step forward and felt something squish underfoot. 

"There also appears to be a considerable amount of droppings, likely from the same animals," Teal’c finished. 

O’Neill took a step back and looked closer. Sure enough, that was what he had stepped in. 

"Shit," he grumbled. 

"I believe that is what I just said, " Teal’c observed, as O’Neill tried to shake the offending matter off the bottom of his boot. It was squashed firmly into the tread, so he settled for wiping his foot across the grass, while Carter tried not to laugh and Jackson rolled his eyes. 

"They would appear to be herbivores, " Teal’c offered after a moment’s examination. O’Neill didn’t want to know how he'd come to that conclusion. 

"All right, we have people, and we have domesticated animals, " Jackson said, rubbing his palms together. "That's a good start."

"So, which way, Mr. Ancient World? ," O'Neill prompted, hoping the domestic animals in question weren’t guard dogs with big teeth.

"One's just as good as the other," Jackson pontificated. "Sooo… left."

"Why left?," Carter asked. 

Jackson frowned. 

"We always go right," he answered. "And often as not, things don't go well. So let's try left."

O'Neill looked to the heavens in exasperation, and not deigning to reply, motioned Teal’c forward. Their previous military formation dissolved into a loose scrum. Teal’c was still slightly in the lead, but the vigilance of the other three was relaxed somewhat. Jackson and Carter were quietly discussing something, leaving O’Neill to his own devices.

His earlier reference to the yellow brick road started the wheels in his head turning. Although they hadn't dropped a house on anyone, the similarities were obvious. Carter was definitely a Dorothy. Her knack for improbable solutions made that a given. 

Daniel was a little tougher. The Cowardly Lion wasn't a great fit, but it would have to do. Jackson had never been short on courage, not by a long stretch. As long as O’Neill had known him, the young man had broken any preconceptions he'd had about archaeologists. He wasn’t afraid to go nose to nose with anyone once his sense of right and wrong was violated, as O’Neill himself would attest. He had, however, come into his own since his brush with ascension. His correlation with the Cowardly Lion then, O’Neill believed, was a metaphor for personal growth. He was proud of himself for devising a philosophical construct and was disappointed there wasn't anyone to share it with.

Teal’c was more problematic. The Tin Woodsman was a good fit: sturdy, reliable, and a good man on your side in a tight spot. The problem was the Tin Woodsman's search for a heart. It would take a shallow person indeed to associate the redoubtable Jaffa with a lack of heart. As the saying went, still waters ran deep. Despite a stoic exterior, on numerous occasions he had exhibited an almost boundless capacity for empathy, and a great love for those he deemed to be under his protection. Nor could one who lacked heart have ever dedicated his life to overthrowing false gods and freeing his people. Still, the Tin Woodsman had an ax, so that correlated with Teal’c’s ever-present staff, at least in O’Neill’s estimation.

Uncomfortably, he realized that meant the Scarecrow fell to him. Was he on a quest for a brain? Commissioned officers held the equivalent of at least a Master's degree. O’Neill was neither foolish nor uneducated, far from it. Years of command had taught him the best way to wring the most out of his people was to not crowd them, to let them stretch a little, even if that made both parties uncomfortable. If that meant letting them think they'd put one over on him, then he was willing to play the buffoon, to a certain extent. SG-1 was a sharp group, the sharpest he'd ever served with, so the full depth wasn’t necessary, but he would give them the freedom to play to their strengths at his expense. So, another metaphor. He decided he could live with being the Scarecrow. 

Unless he was Toto…

The path had been following a continual gentle leftward arc, and as they passed each mound, the stargate could be glimpsed in between. It had described almost a complete circle before they came across a diverging road.

It was a well-worn dirt footpath, unlike the bright white gravelled trail they had been on. It lay hidden in the grass, unnoticeable until they were practically on top of it. Barely twenty yards ahead they could clearly see the dark splotch that marked where O’Neill had stepped in the animal dung.

"So much for going left," O'Neill groused, casting a dark look in Jackson’s direction.

"Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a tracker," he shot back defensively. 

O’Neill shook his head sadly. 

"Doesn’t work, " he said. "McCoy had _gravitas_. You've got. .. nothing."

Jackson was about to retort that senior citizens needed their exercise and he should be thanked, but decided against it. 

"Westward ho," O'Neill said without enthusiasm, gesturing down the trail. After a moment’s thought, he dug out his compass, and took a bearing. Their direction was nowhere near west. Assuming this planet had the requisite nickel-iron core and associated magnetic poles, the trail led north-northeast. It didn’t matter in the least, but he liked to know what was what.

The four spread back out in single file, as the trail was too narrow for two to walk abreast. As they trudged down the dusty path, another realization dawned on them. There were no trees. From horizon to horizon, there wasn't so much as a bush, just an endless expanse of gently rolling meadowlands. After Jackson brought this up, Carter commented on it.

"It's a nice change of pace, " she observed. "Lately everywhere we've gone has been a forest or a city. Reminds me of Kansas."

O'Neill winced at 'Kansas' with _The Wizard of Oz_ still fresh on his mind. Carter was right, though. If he didn't know better, this could have passed for anywhere in the Midwestern plains. The flat terrain permitted them to relax considerably. Someone would have to walk over the horizon to be out of sight, therefore sneaking up on them was equally out of the question. 

"So, Daniel, " O'Neill piped up, "why do people build their cities so damn far away from the stargate?"

Despite the mild weather, he was starting to sweat, and while that was a necessary evil, he wasn't overjoyed about it. 

Jackson thought it over before answering. 

"Most of the places we've visited have little or no idea what the gates are for. At best, they have some cultural or religious relevance. Throughout history, people have always congregated around resources. Food source, shelter, water, that kind of thing. Unless these folks eat grass, there's not much to hold them here. They'll probably be near water."

"Unless they're cow-people," O’Neill said quietly enough no one could hear him. The thought of human-bovine hybrids dwelling in the city of Moo-opolis struck him as funny enough that he walked several hundred yards with a dopey grin plastered on his face. 

Carter happened to glance back and caught sight of him.

"What are you grinning about?," she asked. 

He tensed. Rather than admit to daydreaming about cow-people, he winked at her and shot a finger gun in her direction.

She blushed furiously and minded her own business after that.

O’Neill relaxed. That had been a close call. Sometimes it was better to get busted checking someone out than to own up to being the Scarecrow of Oz.


	3. Us & Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated L for Mild language, and C for cheese eating.

They had covered a good two miles when Teal’c held up a warning hand. Glad of something to distract himself with, O’Neill jogged to his side.

"Smoke," Teal’c explained, giving him a sidelong glance, "as well as something else."

"Don't see any," O'Neill pointed out, wondering if the Jaffa’s senses were playing tricks on him.

"When the breeze shifts, you will smell it," Teal’c rebutted. 

"So, that would mean people," O'Neill replied. "About time."

He motioned Carter and Jackson forward. 

"Daniel Boone smells smoke," he explained.

"As well as something else," Teal’c added.

"Ah, good, people, " Jackson commented. 

O’Neill stared at him. 

"I swear there's an echo," he deadpanned. "Anyway, smiling faces, best behavior, gang."

"Yessir," Carter agreed.

"That goes for you, too, big guy, " O'Neill said to Teal’c. 

"I _am_ smiling," he rumbled in answer. 

"Good enough, " O'Neill allowed. "If these _are_ Daniel's mystery men they should be friendly enough, but given recent experiences, don't assume anything."

"As long as I don't trip over any dead guys," Jackson reminded him.

O’Neill patted his shoulder. 

"You should be able to see him coming this time," he commiserated.

Teal’c led off, silent footsteps kicking up tiny plumes of dust. After another hundred yards, the ground rose slightly. A gentle breeze curled around them, carrying an acrid whiff of smoke mixed with a sharp tang that reminded O’Neill of Billy Brian's enclosure at the Denver Zoo. _That_ must have been Teal’c’s 'something else'.

They crested the rise. The rolling meadow curled easily downward to a reed-swathed stream that snaked lazily along in front of them, a hundred yards distant. A dozen regularly shaped hummocks looked out over the water's edge a stone's throw from the stream bed, each topped by a square stone. To their right, a long, low building of some indeterminate gray material was surrounded by a knee high irregular yellow wall. On the far side of the stream, the grassland rolled on uninterrupted. 

The unmistakable odor of feedlot smacked O’Neill in the face, and he crinkled his nose.

"This is more like it," Jackson commented genially as he followed the footpath down the gentle slope. 

"Ah, excitable youth," O'Neill observed drily, motioning the others to follow in the oblivious archaeologist's wake.

"Colonel, we're not alone," Carter said, pointing ominously. 

Some distance away to their left, a boy of eight or ten was shepherding a flock of goats.

"That explains many things," O'Neill replied sagely. "Not the least of which is the smell."

Jackson, not noticing the boy, hadn't checked his advance. Already, he was twenty yards away.

"Damn, Daniel, " O'Neill grumbled. "First house you find, you leave us high and dry."

They hustled to catch up with him, as he made a beeline for the gray building. As they drew closer, they could see the wall was made of bundled reeds, hence its irregular outline. The hummocks fronting the stream became recognizable as sod houses, recessed into the riverbank.

A hint of movement caught O’Neill’s eye. A man was crouched at the nearest corner of the building, making vigorous motions with his arms, doing what they couldn't tell, as his back was to them.

"Best foot forward, " O'Neill reminded his team as they approached. 

The man was mixing something on a large hod or pannier. The trowel-like tool he held in his right hand made a scraping sound that set their teeth on edge.

"Ummm, hello," Jackson ventured when they were a dozen yards away. He rested his interlaced fingers atop the butt of his P90 in what he hoped was a non threatening fashion.

His words coincided with a loud scrape, and the man gave no sign of hearing them. Jackson’s mouth opened and closed, slightly taken aback.

"Hiya," O'Neill said, slightly louder. 

Another loud scrape covered his words.

"Maybe he's stone deaf," Carter guessed, not realizing the cause of their difficulties.

Still unaware of their presence, the man casually squinted over his shoulder, then did a double-take, hurriedly dropping his trowel and bolting upright to face them.

He was well built, about Jackson’s height, and seemed to be somewhere in his late twenties. At first glance, he appeared vaguely semitic in his features. At second glance, he vaguely resembled an AmerIndian, and at third glance, he looked vaguely like a lot of things. He was clad in a rough tunic over a loose kirtle or kilt, which he was busy wiping his hands on nervously. 

He eyed the four figures before him uncertainly, then spoke with a frown.

""The old father told me this day would come, that the spirits would guide me to the place of resting to prepare me for what lies beyond. I had hoped I would be old and gray as he was, but that seems to not be my lot. Lead on, spirits."

Jackson smiled, fully in his element here.

"You have nothing to fear from us. We're not spirits," he said.

"That," the man replied, frown changing to a scowl, "is exactly what a spirit would say."

"We're explorers from far away," Jackson explained. "We came here through the stargate."

The man looked skeptical, and Jackson realized that not everyone called a stargate a stargate.

"Umm, _chappa-ai_ , Circle of Standing Water, _Astria Porta_ , Place of the Gods," he clarified, hoping one or the other would make the point. 

"Ah," the other replied, grasping his meaning, "the Portal. Whence came you? Which sky? From Agaw? From Urmo? I have heard they have strange ways in Urmo."

He seemed satisfied, at least, that these strange apparitions weren't spirits.

"No," Jackson corrected gently, "We're from a place called Earth."

He dredged his memory for other possible names it was known as. 

"Terra, gaia, home of the Tau’ri," he added. The shotgun approach to names had worked so far, so he stuck with it.

"Where you come from, does everything have more than one name?," the man asked.

"In some cases, they do," Jackson admitted. He patted his chest. "I have two names; I am Daniel Jackson." 

The other pursed his lips.

"Seems like a lot of trouble to go to. I'm Kovö," he smiled, relaxing a bit. "Easier to remember, Daniel Jackson."

"'Daniel' will do just fine," Jackson said. 

"So now that we know that I'm me, and you're you, who are these others?," Kovö asked, looking at Jackson’s companions.

Jackson touched Carter’s shoulder. 

"This is Samantha Carter."

Carter smiled warmly. 

"Sam," she corrected Jackson. 

Kovö nodded.

"'Sam' is much better than Samanthacarter," he said, smiling back at her. 

"Colonel Jack O’Neill, " Jackson introduced next.

"You must be very important to have _three_ names," Kovö observed, looking O’Neill up and down very closely. 

"I am," O'Neill confirmed loftily. "But for now, 'Jack' is okay."

"Jaak," Kovö repeated, "a good, strong name."

"Now, if someone tells you that you don't know Jack, you can tell them they're wrong."

Jackson groaned inwardly and Carter rolled her eyes at the joke.

"It's the truth," O'Neill replied with an air of offended dignity.

"And this is Teal’c, " Jackson said, indicating the hulking Jaffa. 

Kovö's face lit up and he nodded approvingly. 

"It is good that one of your people has a proper name," he said. "Well, new friends, welcome to Jouko."

"Is that the name of this place, or this world?," Carter asked. 

Kovö frowned. 

"I don’t understand," he said. "All is World. We live in Jouko." He waved a hand at their surroundings. 

"Now _I'm_ starting to get confused, " O'Neill objected. "What do you mean 'All is world'?"

Jackson held up a hand to forestall more questions. 

"How many places are there on World?, " he asked. 

"There are four skies on World," Kovö replied. "Jouko the Holy, where you stand; Agaw of the Vines, where crops are grown; and Urmo in the Mists."

"How do you travel between them?," Jackson probed.

Kovö grunted and pointed in the direction they had come from. 

"Through Portal, " he said. "The same way you say you traveled here."

"What of the fourth sky?," Teal’c rumbled suspiciously. 

"Raido the Cursed," answered Kovö, frowning. "A dark, cold place of unending snow and ice where nothing lives."

"Sounds fun," O'Neill observed. 

"It is not," Kovö admitted, "but it must be an important part of World, else it would not be. But tell me of Earth-Terra-Gaia-Home of the Tau’ri. "

"It's a nice little place, " O'Neill told him. "Parts of it look a lot like here, other parts not so much. Lots of trees, which you don't seem to have."

Kovö chuckled and waved a hand at the river. 

"We have plenty of trees," he rebutted. "Upstream or downstream, half a day's walk and you'll find all the trees you could ever want."

"Good," O'Neill said brightly. "We've got things in common already."

"You're explorers," Kovö reminded them, "and you found me. What happens next?"

"Pretty much what we're doing now," Jackson confessed. "Talk, get to know each other, learn from each other."

Kovö chewed his lip for a moment, looking at his full pannier on the ground. 

"Don't think me rude, but my mud is starting to dry out. Why don't you explore a little more while I finish up? "

He looked at the sun high overhead. 

"The younger boys will be bringing their flocks in soon, and we can eat with them and talk as much as you like."

"Sure," Jackson agreed, caught off balance at what was essentially a dismissal. Strangers weren’t usually given free range right off the bat like this.

"Is there anything we should stay away from?," he asked. "We don't want to break any rules."

Kovö shook his head. 

"Stay away from any animals you see," he said. "They aren't dangerous, but some of the herders are protective of them. Otherwise, look all you like."

"Wouldn't dream of it," O'Neill replied, perfectly content to avoid livestock as much as possible. 

Kovö turned back to his work, spreading the thick mud mixture over the wall where he had been kneeling. They watched him for a minute, then casually wandered away from the building and in the general direction of the stream. 

"That was a pretty slick move, Daniel, " O'Neill said quietly. 

Jackson frowned, unsure if he was being baited.

"What do you mean? ," he asked. 

O’Neill jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the laboring Kovö. 

"The whole, 'What do we say away from?,' thing. You just asked him if he had anything secret going on, and he never realized it. I didn't think you were that devious. "

Jackson gave him a disgusted look.

"No," he corrected, "I thought it was a good idea to not piss these people off after having traveled halfway across the galaxy to meet them."

"What was all that about 'World' and 'skies'?," Carter interrupted. "You seemed to pick up on what he was talking about."

Jackson thought for a moment while they walked to the edge of the stream.

"The Edfu Building Texts from ancient Egypt talked about the very wise being able to 'go down to any sky' once they were initiated into the Pyramid cult. That puzzled me until I found out about the stargates. Think about it: almost every world we've been to looks the same."

"Because of the parameters the Ancients had for where they planted stargates," Carter interrupted. 

Jackson nodded. 

"Yes. But if you didn't know what the stargate system was, you'd think you were on the same planet, just in a different place. The only thing that would be different would be the constellations at night. Hence, 'All is World' and 'four skies'. I don't think they have any idea how far they're going. They may not realize they're not on Earth."

"Sounds like they may not grasp the idea of planets, or Earth," O'Neill interrupted. "'All is world' actually makes sense that way."

"So like you said in the briefing, " Carter continued the thought, "the knowledge was encoded in myth and passed down, but these people only have a surface understanding of it."

Jackson pursed his lips.

"That's hard to say without talking to him more, but I'd say that's a good bet. "

O'Neill picked up a flat rock and skipped it halfway across the stream. His teammates were doing what they did best, figuring out problems, while he was doing what he did best, which was stave off boredom in the least destructive way possible. 

While Jackson and Carter delved more deeply into the realm of supposition, he sent a second rock after the first.

"How is it you are able to do this, O’Neill? ," Teal’c asked, moving to his side.

"Never skipped rocks?," O'Neill gave him a quizzical look.

"I have never seen such a thing," Teal’c affirmed. 

"Piece of cake," O'Neill breezed, sending a third rock across. 

Teal’c stooped and selected a rock of his own. He imitated O’Neill’s posture, and cast his stone toward the water, where it promptly sank.

"I no longer believe in magic," he rumbled, "but this is most strange. "

He retrieved another stone, but O'Neill stopped him before he could throw it. 

"No, that one's no good," he pointed out. "You want one that's nice and flat."

O'Neill nosed around and found a better one for him.

"Here, try this one," he suggested, handing it over. "You toss it like a backward Frisbee," he added unhelpfully.

"The children's toy?," Teal'c asked to clarify. 

O’Neill made a face. 

"You've done a great job picking up on Earth culture, " he admitted, "but I feel like I've let you down. Frisbees aren't just for kids."

He leaned back and let fly another rock. This one skipped four times before _ploink_ ing beneath the surface. 

"Perhaps so," Teal’c confessed. He cocked his arm and threw the stone O’Neill had given him. It bounced five times going across the stream and clattered into the loose scree on the far bank.

"I had not realized matters of such importance could depend on children's toys."

He looked at O’Neill with an air of great satisfaction. 

"I think I've been had," O'Neill stated flatly.

He glanced over to see Jackson grinning smugly at him, while Carter was clearly wondering how a third - grader had gotten put in charge of SG-1.

"If recess is over," Jackson suggested, "maybe we could look around some."

O'Neill harrumphed. 

"'A little bit of nonsense now and then'," he quoted Willie Wonka, "'is cherished by the wisest men'."

Carter closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, trying to massage away the beginnings of a headache brought on by her CO. Jackson looked at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears, then turned away to begin examining the houses along the riverbank, opting to not dignify O’Neill’s comment with a response. 

He tried the door of the nearest. It was made of tightly woven reeds, so he pulled gently, not wanting to damage it. Encountering unexpected resistance, he tugged a little harder and it swung wide open. Jackson released the door to wave the rest of the team over and it promptly snapped shut. O’Neill snorted. 

"Looks like they don't want you snooping around, " he said.

Jackson pulled the door open again and examined the frame. A fist - sized stone at the end of a long leather strap looped over the jamb and tied to the door provided a counterweight that kept it shut when not in use.

"Now that's pretty clever," he admitted. 

"Don't want the goats breaking in and eating your lacy unmentionables while you're out," O'Neill snarked. 

The structure was considerably larger on the inside than they thought it would be. Its turf front was just a facade. The bulk of the area had been dug out of the bank and could have easily accommodated a dozen people. 

All four interior walls had been plastered over with a stucco of clay and lime and were a surprising bright white. Three of the walls were lined by spacious benches that provided plenty of room for sitting or sleeping, while the fourth was occupied by a row of large bins or baskets also woven from reeds. In the center of the room was a large circular hearth built of neatly mortared stone. Directly overhead, the ceiling was funnel-shaped, leading to a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The square stones they had spied from farther away proved to be hollowed out, acting as a crude chimney. 

"Looks pretty snug," Carter commented, eyeballing the piles of furs and blankets covering the benches.

Jackson had been examining the hearth carefully, and without warning, scurried back outside. Peering around the doorway in confusion, O’Neill spied him digging furiously through the sparse grass at the base of the facade.

"Troubles?," he asked the preoccupied archaeologist. 

After another minute, Jackson stood, wiping his hands on his pant legs and rejoining them inside.

"Curiouser and curiouser, " he remarked. 

"I take it they're in violation of building codes?," O'Neill snarked. 

"This firepit," Jackson explained, gesturing at the hearth, " is exactly like the ones excavated at Gobekli Tepe."

" _Gesundheit_ ," O'Neill said politely. 

"I remember reading something about there," Carter replied. "But wasn't that site megalithic? "

O'Neill looked at her in consternation, to which she shrugged. 

"It never hurts to branch out, " she said. "I'm a curious girl."

"The temple complex proper is megalithic, " Jackson admitted. "Really big stones," he explained, answering O'Neill's puzzled look. "This is the same design, just on a smaller scale, and obviously with local materials."

"Wasn't that dated to 12,000 years ago? ," she asked. 

"Roughly, " Jackson confirmed, "though Schmidt, the guy on site, admitted there was a couple thousand years leeway on the date. Either way, it's pretty close to the time frame I was looking at for the Redhorns myths. "

"So what's with all the digging around outside?," O'Neill asked. 

Jackson snapped back to the present. 

"Outside. Right. The foundations under the turf facade are stone blocks topped with timber."

"So, big stones, just like you said, right?"

"Not exactly, " Jackson chewed his lip for a moment. "Megalithic is really big. These are reminiscent of the Viking longhouses unearthed at L'Anse aux Meadows in Newfoundland. "

He and Carter shared a look.

“Mother culture,” they said in unison.

"Arrrgh, mother-father-Chinese-dentist," O'Neill growled. "Bottom line, Daniel? "

Jackson gulped. 

"What we're seeing is a hodgepodge of different construction styles from all over the oldest parts of the ancient world: Mississippian, Mediterranean, neolithic, Viking. We could be looking at a living example of the culture that spawned civilization."

"Not 'civilization as we know it'?," O'Neill prompted. 

"No," Jackson said. "Civilization period. I've got to talk to Kovö about this."

The door swung open to reveal a grinning Kovö. 

"Kovö likes to talk, Daniel, " he said. "Let's eat, and you can talk to your heart's content. 

He ushered them back outside, and spent a few seconds washing his hands in the stream.

"Your son seems to be excited," he said to O’Neill, who followed suit, scrubbing his hands in the unexpectedly cool water. "I'm a little curious myself, " he admitted. 

"Yeah, so am- _what_?," O'Neill did a double-take as the words registered. " _Son_?"

Kovö frowned. 

"You are Jaak?"

O'Neill nodded. Kovö tilted his head at Jackson 

"He is Daniel, Jaak's son."

O'Neill blinked in surprise and Carter almost choked trying to not laugh.

"Ahhhh, slight misunderstanding, " Jackson interjected smoothly. "At some point in the past, one of my ancestors was named Jack. _That’s_ where the name comes from. "

"I see, " Kovö said slowly. "I had thought you were a family. "

"I don’t even want to know where he thought _we_ fit in," Carter murmured to Teal’c under her breath. 

"Indeed, " he rumbled in a quiet reply. "It may be best to not inquire."

"Well, we're one big happy family, " O'Neill confirmed, "we're just not related to each other."

"Hmmm," Kovö said noncommittally, as he wiped his hands on his kilt.

While they had been examining the house three young boys had shepherded their flocks in, joining the one they had seen earlier, and there were now nearly a hundred goats milling around in the paddock behind the long building. Kovö guided them to the side nearest the stream. 

A spacious patio area of large flagstones spread from the building almost to the water's edge. There were a number of low stools scattered around and a few benches similar to the ones inside the house. Kovö got them settled comfortably and disappeared into the building, only to reemerge moments later carrying a large basket. He put two fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle.

"Aral! Viis! Reza! Tor!," he called.

The four boys, who had been hanging back watching SG-1 nervously from around the edge of the building, wandered over to the patio and shyly found seats. 

Reaching into the basket, Kovö playfully tossed each boy an apple, then handed over small loaves of coarse brown bread and slabs of hard white cheese. He teased each of the boys as he distributed the food, and they began to relax a little, though they still eyed the strangers with some awe.

SG-1 was served in like fashion, minus the teasing, then Kovö gathered his own provender and settled onto a stool. The cheese had a pleasant nutty flavor, and while the apples were of a variety none recognized, they were crisp and sweet in the way only apples were.

The boys stared at them, fascinated, and whispered among themselves. While Teal’c garnered a fair amount of attention, most of it was centered on Carter. O’Neill at first thought it was because she was female, but after overhearing a couple of the louder whispers, realized they were fascinated by her blue eyes and blond hair.

Kovö and the children were uniformly brown haired and dark eyed, so that made sense. Their skin tone was a muddled tan between Jackson and Teal’c’s shade, so while O’Neill stood out a little from the crowd, Carter was as different as a bird among fish. Satisfying himself that it was simple curiosity and not in any way disrespectful, he tucked in to his impromptu second lunch. 

The bread had an earthy flavor that vaguely reminded him of a German _roggenbrot_. Combined with the apples and cheese, it provided a filling repast that would, as grandma O’Neill had been fond of saying, 'stick to your ribs'. Brushing away a few stray crumbs, he fished out his canteen and took a long drink. 

Kovö eyed the utilitarian object with a large amount of curiosity, so after a moment or two, O’Neill passed it over for his inspection.

He sniffed the contents, and after an experimental swish to gauge its fullness, took a tentative sip. Satisfied that it was simply water and nothing nefarious, he spent nearly a minute examining the screw-on cap, putting it on and taking it off several times. Fastening it tightly, he handed the canteen back to O'Neill, with a sheepish grin.

"An ingenious device," he observed. "Explorers like yourselves must find it invaluable."

"As would herdsmen such as yourselves, " Jackson interjected smoothly. 

"So it would, " Kovö admitted, "though we are never far from water here."

"So you raise goats," O'Neill said conversationally. Kovö frowned. 

"I do not know this 'goats'," he confessed, puzzled. 

O’Neill waved an open hand at the paddock, indicating the livestock there.

"Ah, the _zairibi_ , " Kovö replied. "The boys and their families raise the… hrm, _goats_ ," he worked the unfamiliar word around his mouth. "I am caretaker of Portal and its sky."

"There are others here?," Carter asked. 

Kovö glanced at her in surprise. 

"It is the Harvest of Baskets at Agaw," he answered. "All except the youngest boys are there with their families helping. For three more suns they will be there gathering fruit of tree and vine. When they return there will be feasting and dancing."

O'Neill got the feeling they were going to be hearing the story starting in the middle, instead of from either end, like he preferred.

"So, just goats," he repeated. 

"Across the stream," Kovö answered, pointing, "half again as far as you walked from Portal, there are others who breed _onaga_ , from the great _drakh_ that work the fields to the little _pirri_ that the smallest child could ride."

"Onaga," Jackson muttered. "I don’t know that one. What is it?"

"Reza," Kovö beckoned to one of the older boys. "Show them _onaga_."

The youngster obligingly grabbed a reed and began drawing in the soft earth at the edge of the patio.

"He has a gift for making pictures," Kovö whispered to them. "Be suitably impressed when he is done."

Reza worked painstakingly for a long minute, forehead wrinkled in concentration, then stepped back, grinning at them proudly. 

Jackson slid closer to get a better look, then blinked in surprise. 

"It's a horse," he said.

O’Neill got up to take a peek. Jackson was correct, it was definitely a horse, and Kovö hadn’t lied; the boy had an artist's touch. It wasn’t difficult to act impressed.

"Well done, young man," he commented. Reza wriggled under the unexpected praise like a puppy given a new chew toy.

"Wow," Carter said, peering around O'Neill. "That _is_ pretty good," she told the boy, and patted him on the shoulder. He blushed furiously. 

"You said you were the caretaker of Portal, " Jackson reminded Kovö, trying to get the conversation back on track. 

"Yes," Kovö affirmed. "I look after Portal, keep record of the movement of the stars, and attend to the upkeep of the buildings here and at the sacred circle. "

"Where's the sacred circle? ," O'Neill wanted to know.

"The white path around Portal marks its edge," he answered. "All within the path is the sacred circle." He grinned. "The _zairibi_ keep the grass short, so most of my time is occupied by repairs." He gestured to the freshly spread mud he had been mixing when they had arrived.

"Why do you keep track of the stars?," Carter asked. 

Kovö shrugged. 

"It has always been the task of the caretakers to do so. When the stars shift into different arrangements it is taken as a sign from the spirits, and different rituals are performed, depending on the new arrangement, but that has not been done within living memory. "

"Do you use them to mark the seasons and harvests?," Jackson asked. 

"Harvests are done according to the moons of Agaw," Kovö said. "I know not what 'seasons ' are."

O'Neill blinked in surprise. 

"Spring, summer, fall, winter," he explained. "When the weather changes."

"The weather does not change, " he replied, smiling ruefully, with the air of a man who wasn't sure whether or not he was speaking to a simpleton.

"Sir," Carter interrupted, "Earth has seasons because our axis is tilted. Mercury, Venus and Jupiter have negligible axial tilt, so they have little seasonal variation. I'd guess the planets in their gate system have little to no tilt."

"Hmph, no fall," O'Neill mused. "That must suck."

"Does Jouko have a moon? ," Jackson asked. 

"There are moons only in the sky of Agaw, " Kovö answered, then smiled. "According to legend, Agaw stole the moons of Jouko and Urmo, for she has three and they have none."

"Not very neighborly," O'Neill observed. 

"Does the weather ever change in the three… er, skies?," Carter asked. 

"Of course, " Kovö replied. "Sometimes it's sunny and sometimes it's rainy."

"Not exactly what I meant, but o.k.," Carter grinned. 

Kovö tossed each boy a second apple.

"Eat hearty," he encouraged them. "When your families return we'll have fresh fruits."

"Will you sing again at the feast?," the youngest boy asked Kovö. 

He appeared to think it over, adopting a serious look.

"We shall see, " he finally answered. "No one complained too loudly last time, so perhaps I will."

"He sings really well," Reza whispered conspiratorially to Carter, inching closer to her. 

"Will you dance again, Aral?," Kovö returned the barb to the boy who had questioned him.

Aral flushed and ducked his head to cover his embarrassment. 

"Aral is quite a dancer," he confided to O’Neill. "But sometimes his feet get ahead of the rest of him."

"And then he falls on his face," needled Viis, the middle child. His remark earned him an elbow in the ribs, courtesy of Aral.

"Sounds like a good time," O'Neill replied. "Maybe we can stick around to see it."

The boys seemed excited by the prospect and talked in animated tones among themselves like young boys do when something catches their interest. Kovö let them go on for a while, seemingly enjoying their enthusiasm. 

"All right," he said at last. "The _zairibi_ grow restless. Their bellies are empty. Get along with them."

"They've done nothing but eat all morning," Reza complained. 

" _Zairibi_ do nothing but eat all day," Kovö pointed out. "Go along now. Our guests will still be here tonight, never fear."

With much grumbling and several backward glances to make sure the strangers didn't suddenly vanish, they gathered their herds, splitting back up into three groups, and drove them away up the gentle slope.

"Isn't it dangerous for them to be out there all alone?," Carter asked, watching them depart.

"Danger from what?," Kovö seemed genuinely puzzled by the question. 

“Wild animals, for one thing,” O’Neill said.

“Strangers, for another,” Jackson added.

Kovö laughed good-naturedly.

"Otter and fisher and hare care nothing for people, " he explained. " _Kutli_ might, but only to steal food. Hawk and loon would take no notice."

"Who is kutli?," Jackson asked. 

"Fisher's brother. He wears a mask on his face and rings on his tail, and steals food from your hands."

"Who's Fisher?," Carter asked, wondering if they were starting to sound like a broken record to Kovö. To her surprise, it was O’Neill who answered. 

"They're related to weasels and martens. Cute little guys, but they have a call that sounds like a woman being murdered. Gives you the willies if you've never heard it before, especially in the dead of night 'way out in the backwoods. "

"You know Fisher well," Kovö remarked, eyeing him appraisingly.

O’Neill flashed Carter a smug grin. 

"I think you'll find we know many of your animals, even if their names are different," he told Kovö. "But what about the other?," he redirected the conversation. "What if strangers come through? _Have_ strangers come through? "

Kovö shifted to look directly at O’Neill. 

"In all the days of my life, in all the days of the old father before me, and the old father before _him_ , no stranger has come through Portal except yourselves," he said earnestly. "Unless you mean those from Urmo, who are themselves strange."

O'Neill and Kovö locked gazes, and for the first time, O’Neill began to appreciate the depth of the intellect behind those dark eyes. It had been easy to dismiss these people as simple, if friendly, primitives, no different than any of a dozen similar groups they had encountered in their travels. This new sensation wasn't worrisome, it was more of a wake-up call to not underestimate them. They might not have a solid grasp of things he took for granted, but they were by no means stupid.

“How long have your people been here?,” Jackson asked.

Kovö chewed his lip.

“I cannot tell you that, Daniel,” he said regretfully. "It was so long ago that only legends remember a time before we lived under the four skies, when the Yara lived in a land of great mountains and even greater forests.

”The Yara,” O’Neill repeated. “That would be you?”

Kovö nodded, and made an encompassing gesture with his hands.

“All of the people under the four skies are Yara, as are you.” His eyes narrowed for a moment. “The only one I am not sure of is you, friend Teal’c. I feel that you come from a sky even stranger than that of your companions.”

“Indeed, I do,” Teal’c affirmed, bowing politely. “Long ago I was in thrall to vile parasites who could warp the mind and control the body. These,” he indicated the rest of SG-1, “ were able to free me, and one day I will do the same for the rest of my people.”

“You freed yourself, Teal’c,” O’Neill interrupted. “All we did was give you the opportunity. A lesser man wouldn’t have made that choice.”

Kovö looked thoughtfully at O’Neill.

“I begin to understand many things,” he said finally. “Why you are honored with three names, and why the others look to you with respect. A small man will keep glory for himself, but a great leader will give it to his people, knowing they are worthy of it.”

O’Neill straightened from his habitual quasi-slouch and cast a regal look in Carter's direction. 

“What of the leaders of your people?,” Jackson asked. “Who are they?”

Kovö brushed imaginary dust from his kilt.

“Each sky has a council of elders,” he said. “They decide important questions, but mostly people run their lives as they wish. The elders only intervene when there is a disagreement, or if something completely new happens.”

“Where are the elders for this sky?,” Carter asked.

Kovö pointed across the stream. 

“They reside with the breeders of the _onaga_.”

“Can we meet them?,” O’Neill asked hopefully, optimistic that whoever was in charge would be both accessible and amenable. 

Kovö cast his gaze down for a long moment, then looked to O’Neill.

“Not yet,” he answered. “Here you have come, and here you must remain while I consult the spirits on what to do next. As I said no stranger has come here within memory, so this is something new.”

“As such, isn’t that the responsibility of the elders?,” O’Neill asked sharply.

“Had you come to the elders, yes, it would have fallen to them,” Kovö confirmed. “But you came here through Portal, and the spirits guided you here to me, so you are my responsibility.”

“It was a goat path that guided us here, but who’s keeping track?,” O’Neill snarked.

Jackson held up an empty palm in his direction, insulting the spirits wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“How will you consult with the spirits?,” he questioned.

Kovö leaned back on his bench. 

“I will drink the holy cup. The spirits will draw aside the veil to the other world, and I will commune with them. We will have much to discuss. Not just about you, but other things as well.”

“Can we observe?,” Carter inquired.

Kovö smiled at her.

“You can participate, if you wish. The spirits draw no distinction between people. All who approach them respectfully are welcome.”

“And when does all this happen?,” O’Neill asked, trying his level best to not sound like a smart-aleck.

“After the sun sets,” Kovö replied, then pointed to the sky. “When the sign of the hunter is there, it shall begin.”

They talked throughout the rest of the long, lazy afternoon. Jackson and Carter took turns quizzing Kovö about the Yara and their life under the four skies, with occasional interruptions from O’Neill whenever a particular topic piqued his interest. For his part, Kovö displayed a lively curiosity about them and their affairs, especially as related to the galaxy at large. For someone who seemed so provincial and professed ignorance about the universe as a whole, he was surprisingly adept at grasping the finer points of galactic politics.

He was exceedingly interested in the history and current plight of the Jaffa, and spoke with Teal’c at great length. Kovö proved to be a sympathetic audience to all four of his guests, and engaged with each in depth as the day wore on.

He and Jackson were discussing the usage of the mound complex to track the passage of time when Teal’c suddenly interrupted. 

"Something approaches," he rumbled, pointing a meaty finger in the general direction of the stargate. A nebulous cloud of dust was just visible in the brassy gleam of the late afternoon sun.

"Ah," said Kovö, "the herds are beginning to come back in." He gave Jackson a downcast look. "I am sorry, Daniel, but we will have to finish our talk a little later. I must get started on the evening meal. With all the families away, it falls to me to ensure the young are fed properly."

"Could you use some help?," Jackson chirped brightly. Getting an anthropologically curious eye on their inner workings was too good a chance to pass up.

"Four hands are better than two," Kovö replied a grin.

"Then six should be even better," Carter interrupted, inviting herself to tag along.

He led them into the long building. 

O’Neill stood gingerly, stretching his lower back and surreptitiously massaging his backside. The stool he had been perched on had been comfortable enough, but anything got tiresome after as many hours as they had been at it.

Still, he wasn't going to complain. The afternoon had been well spent. While he might not be able to come to grips with the Yara as a whole, he'd gotten a pretty good read on Kovö. If the caretaker was any barometer for the rest, they would be fine people. He turned to Teal’c, who had also remained behind, being uninterested in the domestic ins and outs of the locals.

"What do you make of all this?, " he asked. 

Teal’c considered for a moment. 

"No walls, no defenses, not even a presentable weapon. These people have either lived at peace for so long they have forgotten any other way, or…"

"Or?," O'Neill prompted. 

"Or they are a subjugated people who have grown accustomed to their shackles," he finished. 

"Doesn’t really come across like that," O'Neill pointed out. 

"Agreed, " Teal’c affirmed. "The freedom with which the young move about argues against that."

"So what made you think that?," O'Neill asked. 

"His curiosity regarding the Jaffa, and the ongoing rebellion against the Goa’uld."

"I wouldn't hold that against him," O'Neill replied with a smile. "We just opened his eyes up to how big the galaxy is. What he thought was empty sky turns out to be a closet full of monsters."

"I do not understand your metaphor, O’Neill."

O'Neill waved the objection aside.

"Doesn’t matter, " he overruled. "What does matter is that while he may have found out there are monsters out there, he also found out there are those who will stand against the monsters. Humans, just like him, who are brave enough to fight for others because it's the right thing to do. Pretty powerful stuff there, buddy."

"Perhaps so," Teal’c allowed. 

A loud clanking sounded from inside the building, and a plume of smoke began wafting from the rooftop. Teal’c looked inquiringly at O’Neill. 

"I'm sure if they needed help they would have asked, " he said in answer to the unasked question. 

Teal’c made no reply, giving O’Neill the raised eyebrow instead. 

"Oh, all right," he relented, and followed the massive form of the Jaffa inside.


End file.
